The answer was an earthenware pot which crashed down on Mr.
Gibney's head from a window in the bungalow behind him. He sagged
forward and fell on his face with the gasping king in his arms.




CHAPTER XXIV


On board the _Maggie II_ B. McGuffey, Esquire, had just gotten
into position the Maxim-Vickers "pom-pom" gun on top of the
house. The last bolt that held it in place had just been screwed
tight when clear and shrill over the tops of the jungle and
across the still surface of the little bay there floated to
McGuffey's ears the single word:

"Help!"

McGuffey leaned against the gun, and for the moment he was as
weak as a child. "Gawd," he muttered, "that was Scraggsy and
they're a-goin' to eat him up. Oh, Gib, Gib, old man, why
wouldn't you listen to me? Now they've got you, and what in
blazes I'm going to do to get you back, dead or alive, I dunno."

McGuffey could hear the cries and general uproar from the wari,
though he could not see what was taking place. In a minute or
two, however, all was once more silent, silence having descended
on the scene simultaneously with the descent of the earthenware
pot on Mr. Gibney's head.